More than a Bird, Less than a Hippogriff
by OrangeScript
Summary: In which a trio of misfits at Hogwarts Prep attempt to juggle high school with amateur crime-fighting. A fun, slightly campy Superhero AU!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I love superhero AUs and I haven't managed to find a good Superhero!Harry one yet, (although def check out cgner's "Playing the hero, being the fool" if you're hankering for some Superhero!Jily), but anyway here's my fun, campy take ft. stupidity, hilariousness, wholesomeness, and (mis?)adventures. Please drop me a review if you can-**__** I'll love you forever :)**_

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"We need to tell Hermione."

Harry startled out of his thoughts at the voice, only to see Ron Weasley: tall, lanky, and more freckled than ever from the summer sun, his brow furrowed in uncharacteristic seriousness. "Well hello to you too," Harry said teasingly.

Ron rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile, "Yes, hello, whatever. We need to tell Hermione."

Harry didn't need to ask his friend what he was talking about; only one life-changing discovery had been made in the past two weeks.

"I know," he admitted, "I just don't want her to get on my case about skipping class all the time."

Ron had been his best friend since their very first day at Hogwarts Preparatory School; they were the only two scholarship students in their year and had hit it off immediately on the train. Hermione had joined their group a few weeks later, after the three of them had been locked overnight in a flooded school bathroom on Halloween as a prank— and wasn't that just an adventure— but Ron was the one with the Red Phoenix superhero costume, the one with the posters of Poison Ivy and The Captain in his room, and all the crazy conspiracy theories about why the crime-fighting duo had disappeared nearly a decade and a half ago, ("I swear, Harry, Poison Ivy was pregnant in that last battle against Voldemort, but she lost the baby and decided that she couldn't be a superhero anymore—"), so Ron had been the logical confidante when Harry had woken up by banging his head on his ceiling and discovered that he was floating six feet above his bed, and also now had piercing headaches that let him know when people were in danger. Plus, Hermione had been vacationing in France with her folks, and it was hardly an email topic.

A spider crawled onto the toe of Harry's shoe. He shot a quick glance up at Ron, who hadn't noticed. Ron hated spiders. "Go away," he whispered to the spider. Fine, it said in a tiny voice. It shimmied off his worn sneaker and scuttled away. He watched it go. This was another talent he'd recently discovered, one that even Ron didn't know about yet.

"But she's loads smarter than either of us," Ron argued, apparently having missed Harry's exchange with the spider entirely. He looked furtively around the busy courtyard, before lowering his voice, "Every superhero team needs a resident genius. Besides, she's super into social justice; I'm sure she wouldn't mind you missing classes for a good cause!"

Harry sighed, knowing Ron was right. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the ground.

"And," Ron said, cheeks and ears pinking slightly, "I— I want to ask her out. On a date. A proper date. And I don't want to be, you know, keeping secrets from her,"

Harry looked up in surprise, and then grinned broadly, "That's brilliant, Ron!"

Ron smiled back hesitantly, "You think?"

"Harry! Ron!"

The boys turned and were each met with mouthfuls of bushy brown hair as Hermione launched herself at them and threw her arms around them both.

"God, I've missed you two so much!" She grinned widely as she disentangled herself.

"Hermione!" Harry greeted, spitting hair out of his mouth, "You got your braces off!"

"Yeah, you look great," Ron said, flushing awkwardly, "How was France?"

"It was lovely!" Hermione smiled even wider, "And thank you!" She looped her arms through one of each of theirs, her smile fading, "Did you hear about Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head. "No internet at the Dursleys," he reminded her.

"They're forcing him to retire," Hermione told him, "I think they're going to let him finish out the school year, but—"

"What?" Harry exclaimed, stopping in his tracks, "Why?"

"Apparently, he got married to his boyfriend over the summer," Hermione explained.

"So!?"

Hermione sighed, "Hogwarts is a private institution, and technically the school does have religious roots; it's entirely possible that it's still good law to fire him for 'publicizing his sexual orientation.' They could argue that it was his 'conduct' that got him fired, not his 'identity,' and the school's freedom of religious expression and whatnot."

"That can't be right," Ron said, frowning.

"There'll probably be an appeal," Hermione explained, "I can't imagine people will take this quietly, but the Board of Governors has final say, and Dumbledore's getting old, plus Lucius Malfoy will probably spin it so that it has nothing to do with Dumbledore being gay. And, truth is, he's got plenty of material; we know better than anyone the kind of crazy stuff that goes on at this school—"

"Teachers with homicidal tendencies," Ron said with a shudder, referring to their first year P.E. teacher who had had multiple personalities, the most notable of which had thought itself the deceased super-villain Voldemort and had tried to kill Harry during an after-school scavenger hunt, "And detentions in the forest at night!"

"Giant snake in the girls' bathroom," Harry offered. That'd been a fun year (not). Ron's little sister had been bitten and nearly died, and Harry had first started hearing voices and thought he was going insane.

"Remember when we saw that literal wolf on campus third year?" Hermione mused.

"We were on lockdown all night!" Ron recalled, laughing. "How did a wolf get on campus?"

"And Harry almost died in the triathlon last year," Hermione put in.

Ron waved it off, "Harry almost dies every year."

"Hey!"

The warning bell rang.

"Oh!" Hermione started at the sound, dropping Harry's and Ron's arms, "I've got calculus first, with Vector. What've you two got?"

"We've got Algebra II with Sinistra," Ron said, "But we'll see you in chemistry!"

"We'll brainstorm ways to help Dumbledore at lunch," she decided, turning to leave.

"Wait, Hermione," Harry called. He shared a meaningful look with Ron, "Will you meet us on the roof, after classes?"

She tilted her head curiously, then nodded, before waving at them and hurrying off.

"You won't regret this, mate," Ron said, pulling at the shoulder-straps of his battered backpack with his thumbs, "It'll be great. She'll be loads of help."

"I know," Harry replied. And he did. "C'mon, let's get to class."

…

As luck would have it, it happened in chemistry. Harry was idly watching as their beaker of water heated up on the hot plate, and Ron was playing chess against someone on his phone (Ron was president of the chess club and two-time grand master), when a hot spike of pain shot through Harry's skull and he doubled over, clutching his head.

"Go," Ron said, swiping out of the chess app immediately, "I'll cover for you."

Harry nodded, still holding his head, trying to control the flashes of images enough so that he could get his bearings without losing any potentially precious information.

Ron withdrew something from his pocket. "Duck," he suggested, almost conversationally. Then he plonked whatever it was into the water in their beaker.

Harry bent to grab his bag.

The beaker promptly exploded.

In the chaos that followed, Harry shouldered his bag and stealthily made for the door. He paused, hand on the handle, scanning the room— everyone was chattering loudly, their beaker was destroyed and the wreckage was smoking, and Ron, Seamus, and Neville, who'd been in the blast zone, were being barked at by an irritated-looking Professor Snape. Snape had despised Harry since first year; it was a wonder he hadn't looked for him specifically in the face of such a disaster, but he appeared, for the time being, distracted.

Draco Malfoy, Harry's long-time rival, was standing near the back, looking on in disgust. He happened to glance up, and their eyes met for a scant second. Then another spike of pain hit, hard, and Harry winced, grabbing for his head and turning the doorknob to slip out of the classroom, all thoughts of Malfoy dissolving.

It was a class period, so the halls were deserted. Harry's locker was in the science hallway, which was a lucky coincidence. Unluckily, though, the science hall was on the basement floor. He ditched his bag and grabbed his hoodie and the old black ski mask he'd nicked from the Dursley's garage—he and Ron had strapped Ron's twin brothers' ancient Go-Pro to the mask's forehead— then he sprinted through the hallways, up four flights of stairs, and onto the roof. He pulled the mask on over his head and attempted to finagle his arms through the sleeves of the hoodie as he took off on a running start across the roof.

He slid his second arm through its arm hole just as the soles of his shoes left the roof and his body hit the air, and if he was being honest he felt like a total badass. He clicked the power button on the GoPro.

His jacket flapped headily; the wind was a cold, whooshing rush through the mouth and eyeholes of the mask. He grinned at the air before closing his eyes and delving into the throbbing presence in his head. Under his scrutiny, the rail of pain unraveled into coherent images; he attempted to grab at them with his mind as he soared through the sky.

In his mind's eye, he saw a young woman. She was being held against a brick wall by a hulking man; he was shaking her, demanding an answer—

Harry's beat-up cellphone (one of Dudley's cast-offs, of course) started ringing, and Harry nearly unbalanced himself reaching to pull it out of his pocket. He hit speakerphone, wobbling as he tried to keep himself steady. "HELLO?" He called over the rush of the wind.

"Harry," It was Ron's voice; he was obviously struggling to contain his excitement. "Or, wait, should I call you a codename? How about, like, Superboy—"

"EUGH, NO," Harry protested, shouting to be heard over the beating wind, "JUST HARRY'S FINE."

"Fine," There was the sound of some clacking, and then, "I see your feed from the GoPro, Harry! Just clouds and stuff right now, right?"

"JUST ABOUT, YEAH," Harry shouted in answer, looking around at the sky in front of him. He exhaled, feeling exhilarated. The mask was stuffy and itchy and damp in the area above his mouth from his breathing. "WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THE WATER?"

"What?"

"I SAID, WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THE WATER?"

"Sodium!" Ron answered proudly. "Nicked it from Fred and George; I thought it'd come in handy if I ever needed to cause a distraction for you! Can't believe it worked out so well, and on the first time, too! I'm in the hospital wing, right now. The smoke detector went off and Snape had to cancel the rest of class! Bloody brilliant."

"DID ANYONE NOTICE I WAS GONE?"

"The sound quality is terrible— did you ask if anyone noticed you were gone?" Ron asked. "Because, well, Hermione did, obviously. I told her you had an upset stomach and had to run to the bathroom. I think she thinks you have diarrhea; sorry, mate. And Malfoy looked a little sketchy, but I reckon that's just his natural ferret-facedness."

The images in Harry's mind grew sharper; he could see the bright, vibrant pink of the woman's hair, the blood trickling down from her nose. He was near. He dipped lower, dropping out of the clouds, and zeroed in on a tiled roof.

His landing left a lot to be desired. He skidded loudly and messily across the tiles, scraping his hands and his knees, and nearly tripped and fell off the roof altogether. It was a miracle that the phone stayed in his pocket.

His breathing was harsh; the mask was absolutely soaked and sticky against his upper lip. He clutched onto the tile, scrabbling for a safe perch for his feet before finally picking up the phone and taking it off speakerphone with a numb, shaking finger. Gloves. Gloves would be good, for next time.

"Ron," he whispered into the receiver. His lips were cracked from the wind, and he licked them. "Ron, are you there? I'm here, I think."

"Copy that," Ron said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice. "Where are you, Harry? I can't see anything. Just the rooftop."

"Hold on," Harry whispered. He clambered carefully over the tiles, nearly losing his balance several times— his body didn't yet understand that he could fly, that falling wasn't a valid fear anymore; he could feel the thrill of danger tingling in his feet and swooping in his stomach as he picked his way, precariously, across the roof. He reached the rickety, tiled edge, and he lowered himself uncomfortably onto his belly, wriggling until he was lying with his head— and GoPro— peeking out over the roof edge. "Can you see?" He asked, his whisper harsh. The itchy, sticky ski mask was hot and suffocating and he just wanted to tear it off his head.

"No," Ron said, "Can you—Wait! Yes, go back!"

"Here?" Harry asked breathlessly. He was contorted awkwardly, scruffy shoes braced against the tiles and upper body essentially hanging off the roof, freezing hands clutching onto the edge for dear life, his head tilted so that the GoPro could get the best view of the alley below. He felt like an idiot.

"Yes, perf—" Ron went dead silent.

"Ron?" Harry questioned, panting.

"Harry," Ron whispered, and his voice was small and terrified. "Harry, you need to get out of there, now."

"What? Why?"

"Harry, that man has a gun!"

Harry froze. This, if nothing else, was a testament to the fact that they should have brought Hermione in on this from the beginning. In all of their (woefully inadequate, Harry now realized) plans, for some reason the boys had not once considered the fact that the bad guy might have a gun.

Harry had only attempted a rescue mission twice before: the first time had been a couple days after discovering his powers when he'd seen (via telepathic headache) Dudley getting mugged in the tunnel on his way home from the park; when Harry arrived, the mugger had dashed off, so he'd simply helped (a slightly banged-up but otherwise perfectly fine) Dudley home. The other time had been last week; the images in his head had led him to the location of Mrs. Figg's missing cat, and he'd been able to bring the cat safely home.

Harry let himself flop forward to give his burning arms some relief as he considered his options, his heart racing. He couldn't just leave when this woman was clearly in danger.

"Ron," he whispered quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I need you to call the cops. Send them to where I am." He thought about it, and then added, "And tell Hermione to meet us on the roof at lunch, not after school."

"Harry, wait, what're you—?!"

Harry ended the call, tore the GoPro off, and lifted the ski mask so that he could breathe freely. He took a long, deep breath, then shoved the mask back over his face and jumped off the roof.

"Please, I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," Harry heard the pink-haired woman plead as he dropped into the alley. The man was shaking her roughly, growling a demand at her like some sort of caricatured thug, letting her head bang against the brick as he shook her. In his right hand he held a gun.

Harry landed, as quietly as he could, on his tiptoes behind the man. His palms were cold and sweaty. The woman saw him immediately; he saw her eyes widen, but the man apparently hadn't heard his landing, and instead grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards forcibly, and leered down her top.

"Hey!" Harry called, mentally berating himself for his idiocy even as the syllable left his mouth. This was his grand plan?! "Leave her alone!" He tried to force some false bravado into his voice, but he was probably unsuccessful because the woman who was being man-handled and threatened at gunpoint quirked an eyebrow at him in an almost amused manner. This was why they needed Hermione. Harry swallowed, and fervently promised never to leave her out of something like this again.

The man startled, whipping his head around in surprise, his grip on the woman going momentarily slack.

But that was apparently all she needed.

The woman drove a ruthless knee into her captor's groin and ducked and spun out from under his arm when he doubled over in pain, her hands locking around his wrist and forcing the gun upwards. The gun discharged into the air, and she twisted it easily from his grip, backing up and pointing it, two-handedly, at the groaning man.

Harry heard the blaring sound of sirens approaching.

"Cheers," the woman said agreeably, and then she brought the butt of the gun down hard on the man's temple. He crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

She wiped the gun down efficiently with the flannel shirt that was tied around her waist and dumped it near the man's body, before turning to regard Harry, who was blinking dumbly at her.

"Thanks for the assist, kid," She said, sounding cheerful. "You're a real knight in shining armor. The name's Tonks!"

"Uh," Harry replied, because what else was he supposed to say?

"You might want to clear out," she supplied helpfully. "Cops are on their way and, no offense, but you look hella sketchy."

"Right," Harry said uncertainly, shuffling backwards, but because he was still a gentleman, he asked, hesitantly, "Uh, are you okay, talking to the cops by yourself?"

She laughed appreciatively, then fished around in her tattered jean shorts. She wiped her bleeding nose on the back of her hand and finally extracted a wallet. She tripped forward, exhibiting none of the fluid grace she'd use to disarm and disable her significantly larger opponent only moments before, flipped it open, and showed it to Harry.

"Junior Detective Nymphadora Tonks," He read slowly, studying the badge. "You're a cop." He couldn't help but look confusedly at her shock of neon pink hair, multiple ear piercings, and the torn fishnet tights which she'd layered under tiny, ripped shorts.

"Neat, huh?" She beamed, re-pocketing the wallet. "Now scram, my dude. I have no idea how I would even begin to explain you to my boss. You've done your good deed for the day."

Harry nodded again, and, because there was no other way to leave the alley except walking out into broad visibility, he drifted awkwardly into the air.

She saluted him, giving him a broad grin, apparently unsurprised at his power of flight.

He dropped onto the roof, took three quick strides away from the alley, and then dove, letting the wind catch him and buoy him up.

He tucked his freezing hands in his armpits contemplatively as he hurtled through the sky. He was really looking forward to lunch, he decided. His stomach growled in agreement. But honestly, he was surprised he was even alive to look forward to anything at all.

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_**A/N: ...sooooooooooooooooooo what did you think!? Leave me a review and let me know! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Chapter 2! Let me know what y'all think! And tbh I'm not sure who to pair Harry with (if anyone at all) so lmk who you wanna see:)! xoxo Gossip Girl (JK) ~~ OrangeScript_**

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_One week later…_

"That's not a real power," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"What isn't?" Harry asked distractedly. It was the day of the campus club fair and they were the proud occupants of the least popular table on the quad. So far, they'd only had one (real) sign-up: an excitable kid named Colin Creevey whom Harry had vaguely recognized as one of the two boys on the cheerleading squad. They'd started out with a fair amount of enthusiasm, but it had petered off after about an hour or so of ridicule and no sign-ups and so Harry was currently studying for his History test.

"Luna says that she's a, um, dream-walker," Hermione said uncertainly from his left.

Harry glanced up from his notes. Luna was a willowy girl with dirty blonde hair and a wisp of a smile that looked far away. "Cool," he grinned, addressing the girl.

The wispy smile turned on him, "Why thank you, Harry." Even her voice sounded far away, and her eyes drifted even as she spoke to him. Harry wondered what she could see that they all couldn't.

"We'll be in touch," Hermione said brightly, handing her a flyer.

"Good-bye," Luna said musically, walking backwards from the table, her eyes fixed dreamily on some arbitrary point in the sky.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look.

"Okay, so she's a little weird," Harry said defensively, "but, _c'mon_, look at _us_," He gestured to their table, the banner that read "Superhero Club RECRUITING" in big red letters (on top of the white paint they'd used to cover up "S.P.E.W." because they hadn't had the time or funds to purchase a new banner). "Who are _we_ to judge?"

Luna was still walking backwards, heedless of the people she was bumping into and the nasty looks she was getting. She began to hum, eyes closed, twirling her hands in the air as she did so.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry.

"Okay, so she's a lot weird," Harry amended. "It's still a cool power! Besides, we need the members."

"It's not a real power!"

"Absolutely not." Ron's voice said abruptly.

Harry and Hermione turned.

Ginny Weasley was planted defiantly in front of their table, her arms crossed, glaring at Ron.

"We're full," Ron said, looking at Harry and Hermione for backup.

Ginny stared pointedly at their sign-up sheet, which was decidedly not full, save for their signatures, Luna's and Colin's signatures, and the three or four goofy signatures that Ron and Harry had made up in order to make their club look slightly less pathetic.

"You lot need a better name," Ginny advised, reaching for the sign-up sheet.

"You don't even _have_ a superpower!" Ron exclaimed, snatching the clipboard out of her reach.

"And you _do?_" Ginny demanded.

Ron gave her a moody look but didn't reply.

"Besides, you're wrong. I _didn't_ have a superpower," she corrected, clearing her throat importantly. Then, before any of them could say or do anything, she had puffed up her chest and hocked a loogie right there on the table.

Harry was so shocked he couldn't quite react. Hermione squeaked and snatched the stack of flyers off the table, scooting backwards in her chair.

"GINNY, WHAT THE HELL!?" Ron shouted in disgust.

There was beat.

"GROSS- WHAT THE HELL?!" Ron bellowed again, his eyes trained on the table.

Harry looked down at the gob of spit. To his absolute astonishment, it had begun to move on its own. He watched, transfixed in disgust and awe, as it formed into the shape of a winged blob.

"Is that… a bat?" Hermione asked timidly, peeking out from behind the stack of flyers.

Sure enough, the blob had taken on the distinctive shape of a bat. Ginny raised her eyebrows and it launched itself into the air and took flight, barreling towards Ron, who dragged himself and his chair back hastily, making a surprised noise.

Ginny clicked her tongue and the bat froze, inches from Ron's nose, poised to attack. Ron was nearly cross-eyed looking at it, his chair tilted back on its two hind legs.

She clicked her tongue again and the bat dissolved. Ron's chair teetered over, and he fell with an ungainly "Oof!"

Harry couldn't help himself from bursting into laughter. Even Hermione looked like she was hiding a smile behind her flyers as a disgruntled Ron clambered back to his feet and righted his chair.

"You should see what I can do with a bogey," Ginny said, her eyes sparkling. She held out her hand and Harry obligingly handed her his clipboard to sign.

"Wha-? How-?" Ron spluttered, looking at his sister in awe and disgust.

Ginny shrugged, signing her name with a flourish. "Don't know, just woke up with a cold a couple weeks ago and let's just say… I was very surprised." She grinned at them. "You really do need a better name, though. I'm not going to wear a sweatshirt that says 'Superhero Club.'"

"Sweatshirts would be cool!" Hermione said brightly, finally emerging from behind her stack of flyers. "Do you have any ideas for names? I was thinking 'Superheroes and Persons for Equality and Wellness,' that way we could re-use all the leftover S.P.E.W. merchandise, but the boys outvoted me."

Ginny shared an amused look with Harry, who rolled his eyes. She cocked her head thoughtfully. "What about 'Dumbledore's Army?'" She suggested. "D.A. for short. It can be like an inside thing; if people ask, we can say it stands for—"

"Democratic Anarchists!" Fred Weasley popped up out of nowhere, George, as always, in tow.

"Diabolical Avengers!" George suggested.

"Dieting Angels?" Fred put in.

"Dastardly—"

"What are you two doing here?" Ron asked tiredly, burying his head in his hands.

"Um, actually, I invited them, Ron," Hermione said.

"Hermione!" Ron whined, raising his head from the table. _"Why?"_

"Oh, c'mon, Ron," Hermione said. "We need a minimum of ten people in order to be an official club. And besides," she said awkwardly, "they're the best engineering minds on campus."

"Aww, Hermy, never knew you felt that way," George said, winking at her.

Hermione blushed, and Ron looked like he might explode,

Fred checked his watch. "Speaking of, we've gotta head to the Robotics Club table. Add us to the channel, Hermione!" And they cleared off.

Ron was spluttering again, this time at the twins' retreating backs, so Harry put a calming hand on his shoulder and attempted to defuse the situation. "Okay, so, us three, Creevey, Luna, Ginny, Fred and George," He counted on fingers, "That's only eight."

"Neville will join," Ginny volunteered.

"Okay, so that's nine," Harry said, "We just need one more person!"

"Ask and you shall receive," a decidedly unpleasant voice drawled.

Harry, the skin of his neck crawling, unwillingly looked up into the pointy, platinum blonde face of one Draco Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy's arm was in a sling and Harry wondered if it was a prop to reinforce the supposed "injury" he had sustained when Harry tackled him in Gym yesterday for the wrestling unit.

"No." Harry said automatically, standing up. Ron followed suit, looking ready for a fight. Hermione's face was decidedly closed off and Ginny looked prepared to hack up some more phlegm.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron ordered, glaring.

"You wound me, Weasel," Malfoy said, looking faux distressed. "Is that any way to speak to a potential new member? No wonder you're having trouble signing people up."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione demanded.

Malfoy gave her a look of feigned surprise, "Isn't it obvious? Clearly I'm here to join your little—" he glanced disinterestedly at their banner—"'Superhero Club.'" He bracketed the words in air quotes with his non-sling hand, giving them a condescending little grin.

"You're not welcome in our club," Ron bit out through gritted teeth.

"What did you just say?" Malfoy asked, his grin widening. "Did you just bar me entry to your club? Let me get this straight. So this one—" He gestured to Harry, "_targets_ me in gym class and brutally _breaks my arm_—"

"I didn't break your stupid arm, Malfoy!"

"—_Sabotaging_ my shot for goalie this year—" Malfoy continued dramatically, ignoring the interruption.

"Oh please," Ginny scoffed, "Harry's twice the goalie you are. You wouldn't have a shot if you had three arms."

"Aww, how sweet," Malfoy cooed. "Looks like Potter's found himself a girlfriend."

"Leave her alone," Ron growled.

"To recap," Malfoy said magnanimously, "You target me, _attack_ me—"

"I didn't attack you!"

"—_Assault_ me, _ruin_ my football career, and now, when I try to find other extracurricular activities to join, you bar me entry! On _what grounds!?"_ He threw his non-sling arm in the air dramatically. _"Why?"_ He cried. "What have I ever done to you!?"

"Are you _shitting_ me Malfoy?!" Ron spluttered. "How about on the grounds that you're a bigoted, ferret-faced piece of—!"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted quietly, putting a hand on his arm. "He's right— we're not allowed to exclude people."

"Like _hell_—!" Ron began.

"Ron," Harry whispered unwillingly, pulling Ron's and Hermione's shoulders so that their backs were to Malfoy and they wouldn't be heard. "I think Hermione's right...His dad's on the board, Ron. Who do you think they'll believe? _Draco Malfoy_, or us? We can't get into more trouble— you know Snape's looking for any excuse to get us kicked out. We could lose our scholarships."

"Harry," Ron looked pained. "We can't fight crime with _Draco friggin Malfoy_."

"He doesn't have to know what we really do," Hermione said quietly into the huddle, "For all he knows we're just going to read comic books and play with superhero dolls."

"Action figures," Ron corrected.

"Right," Hermione rolled her eyes. "We just need a tenth signature so that we can become an official club. We'll just have decoy meetings with him there, and after a few he'll lose interest."

Ron groaned, "I don't like it."

"Me neither," Harry offered.

"Well, that makes three of us," Hermione said grimly.

"Unrelated," Harry said, grinning at them in the huddle, "but I feel like we're musketeers."

"I'm Athos," Ron called immediately.

"Not Aramis!" Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

"Hermione, you're definitely Aramis," Harry argued. "Aramis is the smarter one!"

"In the books he's also the selfish one!" Hermione said. "Why is Ron Athos? I want to be Athos! Ron should be Porthos."

"I wanted to be Porthos!" Harry complained.

"Yo, nerds," It was Ginny, poking her head into the huddle between Ron's and Hermione's heads, "Malfoy's still here."

The three of them shared a look, and then sighed noisily.

"One for all?" Harry asked, lifting a shoulder.

"All for one," Ron and Hermione answered in unison.

"Nerds," Ginny repeated, rolling her eyes.

As one, they turned. Malfoy was surveying them with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

"You're still here?" Ron asked scornfully.

Harry tossed one of Hermione's flyers at Malfoy and gestured carelessly at the clipboard, "Sign the sheet."

"Welcome to the damn club," Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Cheers," Malfoy said, flashing them his trademark smirk. "See you soon, fellow, ah, 'superheroes.'" He pocketed the flyer and walked away.

"Weird," Hermione murmured after Ginny had left for class.

"It's Malfoy," Ron said dismissively, bending to untape the banner as Harry started packing up the flyers. "When's he not weird? He's a friggin' psychopath."

"No, I mean, it's weird that he was alone," Hermione explained.

"You're right," Harry said, surprised. "That _is_ weird. He's always with those goons of his."

"What do you think he's he up to?" Ron asked, frowning as he straightened.

"Nothing good, that's for sure," was Harry's dark answer.

He tried to make out Malfoy's figure in the crowd, but he had disappeared somewhere amongst the throngs of students in the quad.

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_**A/N: What do you think!? Drop me a review please, say hi. I'm a lonely girl and it's a lonely life :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3! In which there is a role reversal and Ron struts his heretofore useless encyclopedic superhero knowledge.**

* * *

"So," Ron deposited a thick stack of reading materials on the lunch table with a solid _thwack_, "I made a lesson plan for the decoy meeting."

Hermione appeared visibly disarmed by this development, going so far as to replace her worn bookmark within her Austen novel and set it aside. "You…_what?_" She asked, staring at the books and papers uncomprehendingly.

Harry wiped his hands on his jeans and excitedly picked up the magazine at the top of the pile. "More conspiracy theories?" He teased, admiring the glossy photograph of Poison Ivy and The Captain emblazoned across the front.

"_Not_ conspiracy theories," Ron corrected, looking slightly awkward at having usurped Hermione's position as the one presenting reading materials and explaining their purpose to the group, "Erm, I thought we could talk about Poison Ivy and The Captain, and maybe go over some background on the whole Voldemort crisis since that was relatively recent and we all sort of grew up on those stories. But, I did have some theories that I thought we could talk about that could be pretty interesting— _not conspiracies_," he forestalled, plowing through, "all well-researched. I even found an article from a Harvard professor— Here." He rifled through the stack and handed Hermione an official-looking research paper.

Hermione accepted it automatically, looking, for once, at a loss for words.

"Oh, _c'mon_, so I did a little reading. It's not_ that_ surprising," Ron said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "It's been known to happen now and again. I thought it was a good introductory meeting topic, and even though it's harmless enough, so Malfoy can't really get any information on us out of it, I think it'll be a useful sort of case study for the team."

"Good thinking, Ron," Harry said warmly, leafing through the magazine. "This stuff is brilliant!"

"_Brilliant,_" Hermione echoed faintly, looking at Ron very dazedly as she groped the table blindly for her book.

Harry winked at Ron, hastily re-wrapping the remaining half of his sandwich. "I'm gonna head to the field to practice," he explained, rolling his paper bag into a ball and gathering up his napkin and apple core. He clambered out of his seat and threw the crumpled paper bag and the apple core into the trash can, grinning as he sunk the shot. "Oh, Ron!" He said, turning excitedly. "I forgot to tell you— I think you should go out for goalie this season!"

Ron looked at him like he was insane, "…Harry, _you're_ goalie."

"I've actually been thinking of going for center forward this year," Harry explained in a low voice, looking furtively around the cafeteria to see if anyone had heard, which was probably a bit overkill since, as per usual, everyone was ignoring them…including Hermione, who had apparently gotten over her astonishment and now had her head once again buried in _Pride and Prejudice._

Ron, however, looked up, surprised, a half-chewed chunk of sandwich half-falling out of his mouth. Hermione glanced up from her book long enough to wrinkle her nose and hand him a napkin, and, just like that, balance was again restored to the world. "Center forward?!" Ron demanded, "Why?! You're the best goalie in the school! _Oliver Wood_ himself _handpicked_ you to be his replacement and _he's_ on _Manchester United's_ reserve team now!"

"I know," Harry said, gesturing for Ron to lower his voice, "and, don't get me wrong, I owe Oliver so much. I honestly don't know _where_ I'd be if he hadn't blackmailed me into joining the team back in first year…but, remember when I filled in for center forward that time Charlie was sick? I've been thinking about it, and I kind of loved being in the middle of the action like that. I sort of… miss it. There's just so much waiting around when you're goalkeeping, you know?"

"Harry," Ron said, looking at him like he was insane. "You're a _shoe-in_ for league MVP this year, and you're definitely getting captain when Angelina graduates. Are you sure you want to risk it?"

"I…actually think I do," Harry shrugged. "But listen," He leaned forward excitedly. "If Malfoy is really going to stick to his fake broken arm schtick, he might not play this season." When Ron didn't look like he understood why this mattered, Harry grabbed him by the shoulders. "Ron!" Harry shook him, ignoring the piece of corned beef that fell out of Ron's mouth as he did so, "Goalie will be open! You could try out!"

Ron promptly choked on what was left of his sandwich.

After a round of coughing as Harry pounded him on the back, Hermione threatening to perform the Heimlich maneuver, and, finally, forcing down the water Harry foisted on him, Ron was once again staring openmouthed at Harry, this time sans sandwich.

Several more rounds of cajoling, pleading, and both subtle and outright blackmail would eventually lead to a green-looking Ron accompanying Harry to the field on the day of tryouts.

That very field, incidentally, would be the place where it all began again.

…But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, three days before football tryouts, our young heroes had their first club meeting.

"Can anyone tell me who this is?" Ron asked, without preamble, flicking the light of the overhead projector on and projecting an image onto the whiteboard behind him.

Harry squinted at the mugshot of a dirty, long-haired man, face contorted as he appeared to scream at the camera.

Professor Lupin, the affable, cardiganed computer science teacher who had kindly volunteered to be their club's faculty sponsor, made a small noise of disquiet from the back of the room.

"Your mum," Malfoy offered. Crabbe and Goyle were once again uncharacteristically absent, but he'd brought Pansy Parkinson with him, and she tittered, clinging tightly to his arm.

Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged in response, indicating that she didn't know either.

"Anyone?" Ron asked, ignoring Malfoy.

Harry craned his neck to look behind him. Colin, Neville, and Ginny looked equally confused, and Luna was staring dreamily off into space. Fred was fiddling disinterestedly with a fidget spinner while George appeared to be studiously copying homework.

"Sirius Black," Lupin said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was unusually grim.

There were a few gasps of surprise, and Hermione inhaled sharply next to him, but Harry was still lost.

As if shaken from his trance by their reactions, Lupin tore his eyes from the projected image. "Ah, excuse me, kids," He said, sounding slightly off as he made his way to the front of the room, "I've just remembered I have to finish something up for Dumbledore—" And with that he exited swiftly.

The door clicked shut behind him, the air briefly static with confusion, and then Pansy leaned in importantly.

"People say he knew him," she announced in a hushed tone, "That he was _friends_ with him."

"Shut the hell up, Parkinson," Fred said tiredly, "Like _you_ know anything."

"Hey—!"

"Fred's right," Ron broke in decisively, "That's ridiculous. Have you _met_ Lupin? He likes chocolate and lumpy sweaters! Like _he_ would have _ever_ been friends with someone like _Sirius Black_."

"Sorry," Harry raised his hand, "But, who exactly is Sirius Black?"

"He's a serial killer," It was Neville who explained softly.

"Jesus, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Do you live under a rock?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ginny defended immediately. "I know it's hard for you to grasp, but not everyone's family is teeming with murderous psychopaths."

"Say that again, She-Weasel, I dare you—"

"_Ooh_, I'm _so scared_, Malfoy—"

"EVERYONE STOP IT!" Hermione slammed her hand against the table. "This is ridiculous—you're all acting like children!" Ginny promptly snapped her mouth shut, pointedly looking away from Malfoy, who settled back into his chair, Pansy fluttering over him. Hermione turned back to face Ron. "Ron?"

"Thank you, Hermione," Ron said, uncapping a dry erase marker. "As Neville, said, Sirius Black is a serial killer, currently serving three life sentences in Azkaban prison. He is also the only member of Voldemort's primary henchmen whose identity was unmasked. He was known as Discord," Ron wrote "DISCORD" on the board in red capital letters, underneath Black's mugshot, "because he possessed the power to incite violence and conflict among the people around him. He could bring the ugliest impulses out of people, influence them to commit horrific crimes, create absolute chaos."

Ron clicked a button on his laptop and the picture projected on the board changed to a picture of a masked man, whose head was thrown back in maniacal laughter. The mask had a deranged clown face painted on it, with a long, serpent-like tongue.

"That's Wither!" Colin Creevey piped up fearfully. "My dad told me about him. He could suck the life out of you— starve you to death, even if you'd just eaten!"

Ron nodded, writing "WITHER" on the board under "DISCORD." He tapped the button and changed the picture again: It was another masked figure, this one hunched and stooped. The mask was vaguely rodent-like.

"Plague," Ginny identified immediately, "He could turn into a rat, spread deadly diseases."

Ron wrote "PLAGUE" on the board. "Last, but not least," he said, changing the picture again.

"Voldemort," Harry said quietly, staring at the cruel, red slit-eyed mask of the familiar figure shrouded in black.

"Also known as?" Ron queried.

"The Dark Lord," Malfoy supplied grimly, to everyone's surprise.

Ron raised his eyebrows but wrote it down anyway, at the top of the list. "Right," He said, straightening. "So, bear with me you guys, because this is interesting… Can anyone tell me the four horsemen of the apocalypse from the Bible?"

"War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death," Hermione answered immediately.

"That's a common misconception, actually," Malfoy drawled. "It's _Conquest_, War, Famine, and Pestilence."

Ron looked torn. "Er, Malfoy's right," he said awkwardly.

Hermione's lips quivered.

Ron turned back to the board. Next to "DARK LORD" he wrote "CONQUEST." By "DISCORD" he wrote "WAR." Next to "WITHER" he wrote "FAMINE," and by "PLAGUE" he wrote "PESTILENCE."

DARK LORD – **CONQUEST**

DISCORD – **WAR**

WITHER – **FAMINE**

PLAGUE – **PESTILENCE**

The room was silent.

"Whoa," Colin said, looking ready to explode.

"Hang on," Harry said. "So, Voldemort was trying to, what, usher in the apocalypse?"

"Depends on who you ask," Ron answered. "In my opinion, it was all a matter of messaging. He was a terrorist, trying to spread fear, and it was easy for him to curate that kind of fear by having him and his main henchmen evoke these biblical characters signaling the End Times." Ron changed the slide again, showing a picture of Voldemort, flanked by the three masked henchmen, "It's especially interesting because he also had other powerful followers, like the Mind Invader, for example—" Ron changed the picture to another masked man, this one tall, with an absolutely blank white mask, "Or Fiendfyre," he showed a picture of a man cackling amidst flames, "But he consistently surrounded himself with the other three when he appeared in public, to sort of cement that image."

Colin raised his hand. "So, what exactly were Voldemort's powers?" He asked.

Ron flipped the slide back to the picture of Voldemort, standing alone, his black robes flying. "That is the interesting part," Ron said. "No one really knows. There was so much misinformation being spread around that it all just added to the hysteria and to this perception that he was all-powerful, which, of course, only fed into the image he was trying to portray. There was a period of time when no one would say his name, out of fear that it would summon him."

Harry stared at the red slit eyes, which seemed to stare right back at him, feeling the hair on his back stand on end.

"So yeah," Ron said. "No one can really say for sure. Some say he could fly like the Captain, or read minds like Mind Invader, or torture people with just a look, control snakes, control the elements… The list goes on. The scariest part is, though, that we never figured out who he was. He died in the famous fire in Godric's Hollow Morgue, thanks to the efforts of the superheroes known as Poison Ivy and The Captain." Ron changed the picture to one of the superhero duo, beaming at the camera from behind their dominoes. "But because it _was_ a morgue, there was too much human DNA to sift through in the ashes; and, since the paper records were destroyed in the fire, they were never able to identify which remains belonged to Voldemort. Even scarier, after Voldemort's death, his henchmen disappeared. Other than Sirius Black, and some of the lesser henchmen, like Fiendfyre, none of Voldemort's major followers were ever unmasked or identified. Assuming they didn't perish in the fire, that means they could still be walking among us today."

There were some murmurs from the room, snickers from the twins, and Hermione rolled her eyes next to him, but Harry was transfixed by Poison Ivy and The Captain, both frozen in some lost moment of happiness and pride, grinning at Harry from the board. For reason unknown, something in him ached.

* * *

**AN: ooh. aah. Hope you enjoyed! If you did, (or didn't :0) drop me a review and let me know how you're feeling or what you're thinking, and I swear I will love you 'til death do us part!**

**Muah-**

**OrangeScript**


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